


Do I Know You?

by Mickey_la



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, Boom!, Explosions, John is having problems, Molly being compassionate, Mycroft actually being helpful, One Shot, Sherlock being stubborn, sherlock is an iddiot and gives up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5729485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickey_la/pseuds/Mickey_la
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out in another case they boys are hit by an explosion. This is what happened next.<br/>Based off a Tumblr post<br/>One shot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I Know You?

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this several years ago during my graduation practice. I kept texting it in parts to a friend a few rows infront of me making her cry.  
> Call me evil but I love that story.

The explosion knocked the pair back, a high keening scream reverberated through their ears, painful and deep within their heads; injured eardrums. John was closest to the explosion and as Sherlock fell his mind raced. He fought against the darkness, his mind slapping at him to focus... to focus...  
The soft bleep of machinery woke Sherlock, but he could do nothing about the terribly jarring sound. He was warm, and it felt like a weight was bearing down upon every inch of his body, more so on his chest and right arm. He took a slow shuddering and painful breath. After a moment of concentration he opened his eyes a crack. The world is a colorful blur dominated by whites and greys. There is a splotch of brown resting on his chest which must be the origin of the warmth and some of the pressure. As the brown blob moves and spreads he recognized it as hair. His groggy mind stumbled about listing people he knows with brown mousy hair as he struggles to breathe. "M-" he finally manages to wheeze. "Moll-" the blurry brown blob comes into focus as Molly sits up, her face aflame with terror, overwhelming grief and slight embarrassment.  
"..." He began, his jaw and lips moving but only a dry squeak emanated. Not perturbed Sherlock began again, clearing his throat first and continuing, glad that Molly had a good enough bedside manner to ignore the fitful sound of his gasping. "John?"  
Molly winced, and began what seemed a prepared speech. "He isn't dead, if that's what you're asking, just resting. It was an awfully close thing. He received a heavy blow to the back and side of his head. If they hadn't found him as soon as they did he wouldn't have made it, if the shrapnel that hit him had turned at even the slightest angle it would've pierced his skull... and I would've had to see him in a more professional setting." Molly smiled slightly, half hoping Sherlock would catch her joke and half wishing she hadn't said it.  
"Don't joke Molly," Sherlock wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper "It isn't exactly your area." Molly began to sob, this time in relief.  
Sherlock, drugged and dazed, placed his already raised left hand upon Molly's shuddering shoulders. He could hardly handle emotion under more preferable circumstances so he was grateful when he passed out. 

...::...

Sherlock stood impatiently outside the hospital doors, or he would have if he was allowed to stand. He tapped morse code to himself, the quick and repetitive rhythm calmed Sherlock, but not nearly enough. Morse code wasn't strong enough, not even close. Andrea, or Anthea as most knew her, stood behind Sherlock's wheelchair typing lazily as she chatted with the nurse that was sent to accompany Sherlock wherever he went. He had tried multiple times to stand or wheel himself away but was greeted with incredible pain and the iron grip of Mycroft's PA. Besides, if he misbehaved now all the strings he had to pull and all the favors he had cashed in would be for naught. Sherlock ran his fingers through his shortened hair nervously before continuing to drum out ok ok ok ok ok ok... The haircut had not been his idea, when he had regained consciousness that day with Molly he had awoken to find his hair shaved off for medical purposes. Now, a few weeks later, it was beginning to grow back in.  
After what seemed an eternity, the doors in front of him opened and another nurse emerged. She gave a fleeting glance to Sherlock and tried her best to focus her attention on Andrea/Anthea. Snippets of her hushed whispers reached Sherlock's ears despite her best attempts. "stable, but...not sure...wise... He isn't...quite right...massive..."  
Throwing caution to the wind Sherlock barreled towards the two way doors, calling out in pain as he collided with the doors and made his way through. He barricaded the doors with the wheelchair and stumbled down the hall. Using his shortened hair to his advantage he passed unrecognized by most of the medical staff, purposely bumping into staff to procure a small item that would mask his identity: glasses. He slumped Into a closet and roughly placed a spare coat on, dropping his belstaff on the sanitized floor and continued down the hall fighting against his limp.  
"John." Sherlock slumped into the room, locking the door with a satisfying click. After a moment he grabbed a chair and painfully dragged the visitors chair in front of the door and sank gratefully into it.  
"You look like h***." John said, looking Sherlock up and down. Sitting at a desk, writing he looked just as good as he had when they had left the flat a few weeks ago.  
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh, the tension that had built up within him seemed to dissipate almost immediately. "Anthea fought me tooth and nail to keep me out." Sherlock said, using the name Andrea used for John. "Had to..."  
"I'm sorry..." John said "I don't know you." Sherlock's veins turned to ice, a flood of dread washed through him and he looked at John. Really looked at him. He had deep, yet short gashes beneath his eyes exemplifying the dark circles which were only present after he had a night at the bar. He was slightly wincing at a rhythmic beat, as if his own pulse was counting down the seconds of his life: he was injured but recovering.  
"It's Sherlock, John." Sherlock said, his voice barely even a hoarse whisper.  
John's face shifted slightly. Pain? Confusion? Sherlock was rubbish with emotions and could not tell. "I've never seen you before."  
If Sherlock had been chilled by fear he was frozen in place now. For the second time in his life Sherlock had nothing to say; his mind was a blank frozen canvas splotched with the pain of realization. John's slightly glazed gaze, the writing... The writing! Doing his best to conceal the pain Sherlock got to his feet.  
"I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you Dr. Watson, that was just a short memory game." He leaned over to shake his dearest friend's hand, and tried to convey all those unspoken words within one handshake.  
"I guess the game is over?" John asked, unaware of the weight of his words.  
"The game is never over Dr. Watson." Sherlock turned on the spot towards the door just as Anthea burst in, for once her eyes not glued to her blackberry. "Come. Now."  
Sherlock didn't even protest against the order. He obediently followed behind, his consciousness buried deep within his mind palace. He sank into the wheelchair with a sigh, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. Anthea was speaking, but for all it was worth she could've been speaking to a corpse.  
Deep within his mind palace Sherlock pondered over the words written upon John's paper back in his hospital room.  
Nothing.  
Pointless.  
Look, Ella, I'm writing stuff down.  
Met up with some of the rugby lads from Blackheath last night. They haven't changed. Still downing pints like they're in the twenties. Still all taking the mick out of each other. None of them mentioned my leg.

I must've tried to kill myself again, as I am now in a hospital, can only remember to December, when Ella asked me to write a blog. I don't have a computer or phone so I'm writing it down here.


End file.
